


love trapped us together.

by sncwbaz



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Ballroom AU, Fluff, M/M, alternative universe, fancy party au, i had so much fun writing this, it's cute, it's hard to tag what kind of au it is, rich people old styled fancy party au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 19:49:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10771221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sncwbaz/pseuds/sncwbaz
Summary: Simon is attending a ball at the Pitch Residence and finds himself in a... situation with the Pitch heir. (spoiler: they fall in love)Tumblr prompts used: "Looks like we'll be trapped for a while..."





	1. expectations

**Author's Note:**

> you can also find this fic on my tumblr @sncwbaz
> 
> also, i wrote this quite a while ago and i totally forgot if i had a beta reader for it, so i'm sorry if there's any mistakes in here. feel free to point them out when you see one!

These fancy parties are not my way of enjoying the late evening. My father expects me to dance with the youthful ladies. It’s a good way of making connections and to keep up your status, he tells me every time.

I don’t enjoy dancing with the young ladies. For one, I cannot dance very well. I feel uncomfortable doing it. It all of a sudden makes my feel like my feet and my legs are not my own; like my mind is not the one in control.

Second: I don’t like the expectations; the expectation my father has, about me making connections and maybe even finding a wife; the expectations of the ladies, they don’t dance because they like it, they dance with me for connections, just like I dance with them for connections. They dance with me because it gives them a higher status on these balls. And they expect me to be a graceful gentleman, whilst I know for a fact they don’t like me. Why do I have to be a gentleman to someone that doesn’t even like me? Why even try?

Tonights ball is at the Pitch Manor, which is great. I normally try to sneak away from the ballroom. I like to wander the hallways of the manors and forget about expectations.

The Pitch Manor is huge, which makes it a great place for wandering around. It also makes it a great place for getting lost, which is what is happening right now.

There are so many hallways and stairs that lead to smaller hallways that lead to new big hallways. There are so many corners and turns. I don’t know if there is reason for panic yet. I’m good at navigating, I’ll just trust on myself. I’ll find the way back.

I turn into another hallway. A big one this time. To my right I notice two big, glass doors. Curious, I take a look. Books. So many books. I realize that I have found the library and it’s absolutely huge.

Very carefully I open the glass doors. It surprised me that they aren’t locked. I walk into the library and stare at all the books, my mouth hanging open slightly. I’m not even a big reader, but the amount of books, the amount of stories in just one place amazes me. The must be thousands upon thousands of books here.

I walk around, looking up at the high shelves. They’re all neatly organized. Then I notice two new glass doors. Door that lead to outside; to a balcony.

The doors are slightly open. Is there a person there? I go to take a look, very carefully closing the doors behind me as I step out on the balcony. As I turn to look around I see a young man. He is sitting on the broad railing of the balcony, his back leaning against a pillar, reading a big book.

He’s wearing a dark green suit, his skin golden as the sun, his hair black as the night. He’s tall and elegant and his face has sharp features.

The young man doesn’t look up from his book. I must be lost into the story he’s reading. I wonder about coming closer; about talking to him, but I don’t feel like disturbing him.

I quietly pace back to the glass doors and when I get to them, I realize there is no handle at this side of the door. I try to push the door open, but the doors don’t open inward. I curse to myself. What kind of stupidity is this? No wonder why the door had been slightly open when I came here.

I look back over my shoulder, at the young man. He’s not reading anymore. His eyes are fixated on me. He doesn’t say anything, he just stares with his head a little bit tilted to the side. 

“I think I locked us out on the balcony?” My voice is hesitant, almost shy. 

The young man looks at the doors and stands up from the balcony railing. He walks towards me, past me and he takes a look at the closed doors. 

“The doors lock automatically when you close them, you can only open them from the inside,” he states.

“I figured.”

“Then why did you close the doors?” He asks me, looking at me. 

“No, I mean, I figured that out after I closed the doors.”

He looks at the doors again, then back at me and he sighs, as if he’s disappointed in me. 

I wait for him to say something, but he just walks back to the edge of the balcony and sits down on the railing again, opening his book. I look at him puzzled.

“Isn’t there something we must do about this situation?” I ask him. 

“There is nothing you must, though I do recommend you relax and wait.” he answers, not looking away from his book. 

“Wait for what, exactly?” I take a few steps closer to him. 

“For one of the maids to find us here and let us in again.”

I nod. “Do you think it will take them long, to find us I mean?”

He looks up at me now. “How should I know?” He asks me, not in a mean voice. Just a genuine question. Still I feel the need to apologize for asking him. Though, before I can get the words out of my mouth he’s speaking again. “Though, if we think logically; most maids are needed at the party down stairs, then there are few that guard, but not many that will need to visit the library,” he says matter-of-factly. “Then I’m also expected to be in my bedchambers at a late hour. I think it will be the start of the very early morning when will they start looking for me.” 

“So...” I say, trying to get a conclusion out of what he had just said. “Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while...”

“Unless, of course, people start to notice you’re missing early on.”

I nod. “Yes, right.”

With that the young man gets back to reading and I’m left in the awkwardness of standing there and watching him. There is no proper place for me to sit, there is nothing for me to do. I glance around and look at the view of the balcony. It looks out over the gardens of the manor. Though, there’s not much too see for me right now. I’m standing in too much light coming from the library to be able to properly look into the darkness. Especially because the gardens are barely lit. 

I look at the young man again. “What actually is your name?” I ask him. 

At first he doesn’t answer. He keeps reading and I think he might never answer. But then, once again, without looking up from his book; “Basilton.”

“Basilton?” I ask him. He doesn’t answer. “Wait you are the Pitch heir?”

Now he does look up. “You didn’t know?”

“Well, I mean, how would I?” Annoyed by his arrogance. That he is the Pitch heir doesn’t mean everyone immediately knows him. Not by looks at least. 

“I told you the maids would expect me late in my bedchamber. I thought you would be able to put the pieces together that I live here?” 

Oh. Well, maybe not arrogance. He just thinks I’m stupid. “Ah. I didn’t think much about that. I just wouldn’t expect the Pitch heir the be up here, reading a book. I would expect you to be at the ball, dancing with the youthful ladies.”

“Right.” And he’s back to reading again. 

“My name is Simon. Simon Snow.” I tell him, even though he didn’t ask. “Why aren’t you at the ball?”

He shuts his book and puts it down. “Not to be offensive, but people like to actually read when they’re reading. Talking prevents people from actually reading.” His voice isn’t harsh nor cold, still he makes me feel small. 

I blush. “Sorry.”

He nods. “It’s okay. I mean, we’re stuck out here and there is really nothing for you here to do but to talk to me,” he says, once again stating at logics. 

I smile lightly at him. 

“Do you want to read my book? I can be silent whilst waiting.” 

I give him a questioning look. An actual conversation is not an option for him? “Uh. I actually don’t like reading books.”

He looks at me like I’ve just told him a ridiculous story. But then he asks me; “But do you like stories?”

“Stories? What do you mean?”

“Well, exactly what I asked you. Do you like stories?”

“I don’t know?”

“How can you not know if you like stories or not? Do people tell you stories sometimes?” 

“Yes. Well, the young ladies tell me their gossip-”

“Not that.”

“Then what? There are so many kinds of stories.” I start to sound irritated, I can’t help it. 

“I can read to you. Will you let me read to you?”

I look at him, dumbfounded. “Why would you do that?”

“That way I can read and keep you entertained.”

I stare at him for a moment. “Fine,” I give in. 

His eyes light up like he is smiling, though his mouth stays in place as a straight line. He opens his book again. “It’s a book of short stories. You can pick one,” he says. 

“I’m fine, you can pick one,” I say as I take place on the railing of the balcony, leaning against one of the pillars opposite from Basilton.

He nods. “Okay,” he says. “This one. This one is my favorite.” And he starts reading. I listen. 

It’s a story about a princess; a princess with a love for dragons; a princess in need of more adventure in her life; a princess with a temper that is not be expected from a princess. A very unusual princess.

It’s a wonderful story and ever more wonderful is the voice of Basilton when he reads it to me. It feels like an enchantment coming over me. 

It’s a story of adventure and rebellion and I can see why it’s Basilton’s favorite even though I don’t know any of the other stories. 

As I listen I feel the cold of the night creeping up on me. I shiver. Basilton seems to notice. He holds his book down as he looks at me. Then he stands up and nods to the ground, sitting down, gesturing me to sit down next to him. I do, though I don’t get why he wants to sit here with me now. Then he shuffles towards me, our sides touching. I feel the warmth of his body tingle against my side and I move even closer to him, happily taking the warmth. Without saying anything to me he hold the book up again and continues reading. 

In the story the princess befriends a dragon. She’s not supposed to befriend the dragon, it’s very unladylike, but she does it anyway. She goes against the will of her demanding father; the king. She goes on adventures with her dragon friend. She does what’s not expected of her.

I like the princess. Her rebelliousness makes me smile. Sometimes I wish I had the guts to speak up against my father. 

The story ends with the princess flying off with her dragon on a search of a better life. A life that will except her for who she truly is and not for the status she’s given. 

Basilton puts down the book. “Did you enjoy the story?” He asks me.

“Yes,” I tell him. “I like the princess. The ending is sad though.”

He gives me a confused look. “Sad?” A one word question.

“Yes, it’s sad she can’t live at her home without having to be someone she is not. It’s sad that she has to run because she won’t be accepted if she’d stayed. In a way she’s forced to run. That’s sad.”

“She’s brave.”

I agree on that. 

“I wish I was brave enough to run,” Basilton tells me. “I aspire to be like her, one day.”

“You want to run away?” I ask him. 

“I want to be able to be who I am. If that means having to run away and start over, then yes.”

For some reason I don’t like the idea of him running away. “What part of you does not get accepted?” I dare to ask.

He’s quiet for a while, he seems to be looking for the right words. “I don’t like these parties; these balls. I don’t like dancing nor interacting with the youthful ladies.” 

I understand, still I ask him “Why not?” 

“Because my father, and the ladies as well, expect me to marry one of them. Every time I dance with a lady I feel the weight of expectations on my shoulders. I don’t want to marry them. None of them.” 

“None? You don’t want to marry?” I ask.

“I do. Just, no lady.”

Then I understand and I nod.

He sees that I understand, both of us facing each other. Our faces close to each other because we are sitting with the sides of our bodies lined up against the other. “You must understand that I want to keep that a secret.”

“You have my word. I won’t tell anyone,” I assure him and I smile at him. 

“I assume you don’t like these parties either,” he says and he looks around the balcony as is he want the tell me that he knows that that’s the reason I came here in the first place. Which is true.

I chuckle lightly. “You are completely right about that.”

“Do you want to marry a lady someday?” He asks me.

“I do, I think. I don’t know. I want to marry whom I love.”

“You don’t know if that will be a lady?” 

“No? How should I know? I never felt that kind of affection.”

He seems to think about that. “Me neither, but for me it seems so natural to know.”

I shrug and we become quiet. We sit quietly for a long time and I become colder and colder. I shiver and I feel Basilton shiver as well.

“You’re cold as well, Basilton?” I ask him.

“Baz,” he says.

“Baz?”

“Yes, call me Baz.”

“Okay. Baz.”

“And yes, I am cold,” he then says. 

“As am I,” I tell him.

“Maybe...” He seems to hesitate. “Simon?”

“Yes?”

“Can I hold you?”

I am surprised and confused by his question but at the same I feel some sort of joy when I think about him holding me. 

“It will keep us warm,” he backs himself up. 

I hesitate, but then nod. 

Baz opens his legs and I sit down in the gap he has created, my back leaning against his chest. I feel his warmth spread through me as his arms come around me. I realize the situation is absurd but I honestly can’t be bothered with it. 

“Better?” Baz whispers.

“Yes,” I whisper back, not knowing why we’re whispering. 

We sit like that without talking. I don’t think either of us really feels like talking. I close my eyes and concentrate on all the places Baz’s body is touching mine. I concentrate on his warmth and relax. Slowly I feel myself slipping away, sleep washing over me. I let it take me whilst Baz’s arms hold be in position. 

~~~

I feel someone shake my body awake. I open my eyes and meet a pair of grey ones. It takes me a moment to realize they’re Baz’s eyes.

“We’re being freed,” he tells me and I’m confused. Freed? 

Then I remember. The balcony.

Baz and I stand up, he helps me because I’m still weak from sleep. A maid lets us into the library again and then I remember that I have no clue how to locate my way back to the ballroom. Is the ball even still going? How late is it?

We walk out of the library. “Baz, I don’t know the way. I was lost when I got here.”

Baz chuckles and the maid offers to walk me back. I just look at Baz, he nods at me. “Well...” But he doesn’t finish what he was going to say.

“Goodbye?” I say him, the word going up into a question. 

Then Baz steps closer to me and I look up at him with questioning eyes. All of a sudden I feel his lips brush my cheek. “I hope to see you again, Simon,” he says softly and I feel myself tumble, but I keep enough balance to keep standing straight. 

Then Baz vanished in one of the hallways and I’m let out by the maid.


	2. aspirations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you see any mistakes in this chapter, please feel free to point them out to me.

It has been a week. 

A week since the ball at the Pitch Manor. A week since I met the young Pitch heir. A week since I locked us out on the balcony. A week since he read to me about the princess that didn’t fit in. A week since he held me warm and I slept in his arms. A week since he kissed my cheek. A week since he told me he hoped to see me again. 

And a week had been enough for me to go absolutely crazy for him. 

The night, or rather the morning I got home from the Pitch Manor I hadn’t been able to fall asleep again. I had been wide awake and realized how sad I was I had been forced to leave Baz. I realized I had wished to stay longer; that I had wanted to spend the night in Baz’s arms. That thought had brought fear to me. A slight panic of knowing that my father would think it was wrong for me to think about Baz in such ways. 

It gave me fear of knowing that now I had to live with the weight of a secret on me. Never completely free. 

~~~

Another night, another ball. 

Not just another ball, though. This time the ball is being held at my own home, which is in my disadvantage when it comes to sneaking away. I’m expected to be around the people; to be a good gentleman. 

I wonder how Baz had been able to sneak away from the ball at his own home. I always thought of myself as a rebel, but not compared to Baz I now know. 

My father welcomes all the guests whilst I make small talk with multiple young ladies in the ballroom. I mostly make compliments on how the women look. I started doing that after my good friend, Penelope, had told me how much work goes into the way the young ladies looks at these parties. I am honest when I say that I think they deserve the credit for it. Though my gentleman manners don’t go much further than complimenting.

The ballroom is filled up with women in dresses and men in suits. It’s hard for me to be able to spot someone I know. I wonder if Baz is among all those people. I don’t remember seeing Baz at balls, but I figured he must have been to multiple ones. He’s the Pitch Heir, the Pitch family is one of the most important families out there. I can’t imagine that Baz is not attending any festivities. I know he doesn’t like them, but I’m sure he gets forced by his father, like I get forced by mine. 

I walk, as gracefully as possible, around the ballroom. The ballroom is devided in different parts. There is a large floor on which people stand and talk, on both sides of this floor there are dozens of tables on which dinner gets served. Most adults sit at these tables, discussing politics. There are also a lot of young ladies sitting at them with their escorts as their company, waiting for a young man to ask them to dance. Lastly, there is the dance floor; a wide-open floor that is placed a few steps below the main floor with broad stair cases leading to this floor. I look down there and see a few couples swaying around. 

I know it’s expected of me to pick a woman and take her down those steps to dance with me. I turn around, looking at the rows of tables. I see multiple young ladies, some I know by face, none I know by name. I wonder if I should ask one I’ve already danced with or if I should dance with someone new. 

I am about to walk towards a young lady I have already danced with when someone else catches my eye. Not a lady.

I see Basilton. Baz. He sits at a table, his black hair slicked back, his head down. I take a few steps closer to him and see he’s reading. I can’t help but grin at the fact he has the nerve to just sit down and read a book at a ball. 

I walk up to his table and wait for him to look up. When he does, he smiles at me and I smile back. 

“You’re here,” I say.

“Of course I am, I always visit balls. My father insists on it.”

I frown a little. “I’ve never seen you at these parties.”

“I am at the library most of the time.”

I laugh at that. He really is a rebel. “Really?” I ask. “Would you be able to locate the library here, in my house?”

He nods. “Second floor. The long hallway with the old family portraits. The tall doors on the right.” 

I shake my head, laughing quietly. I think about sitting down with him, but then I think about what kind of gesture that would be towards the people around us. I should be dancing with the youthful ladies. I’m too young for actual politics, but even though I don’t sit down with Baz, I don’t move away from him either. 

“Why aren’t you at the library now?” I ask him. 

“Because I hoped to see you again,” he answers me and I blush, thinking back of the soft touch of his lips against my cheeks. 

I look away from his eyes; a shy gesture. I quickly regret doing it because, as I look away from Baz and look at what’s happening behind him, I see my father. My father sees me. 

He is standing far away from us, but even from here I can see his jaw setting and a disapproving look in his eyes. I freeze. I have a hard time dealing with my fathers disapproval. 

I look back down at Baz, who’s looking up at me, his head tilted to the left. “Is everything alright? Simon?” He asks.

“Uh, yes. Everything is fine. I do think, though, that I need to start dancing with the ladies.”

“Oh,” Baz says and I can see disappointment in his eyes. 

I just nod and leave. Looking around for the young lady I was going to ask for a dance at first, before Baz came into view, but I don’t see her anymore. 

Then my father steps in front of me, looking down on me. I don’t know what to say so I just stare back him. 

My father decides he will be the first of us to speak. “You were talking to the Pitch boy,” he says. It’s not a question, but I know there’s a hiding question behind his statement. 

“I was.” Is all I say back, forcing my father to say his foreshadowed question out loud.

“Why? Do you know him? You know we’re no friends with the Pitch family.”

“I know. And we’ve met. He’s a very nice, young man,” I tell him. 

“Simon, you must know I don’t like you talking to him. The Pitches are trying hard to make me look bad in front of other families. The conversations you have with the Pitch heir can be used and twisted. I don’t want our status to be damaged, I don’t want your status to be damaged, son.” 

I lower my gaze submissively. “I’m sorry. I thought it would be good for us to make connections with the Pitches. They’re an important family.”

“Some families we don’t make connections with, Simon. Not everyone is our friend.” 

I nod. “Alright.”

“Good boy,” he tells me. “Maybe you can try to dance with young Lady Wellbelove tonight. Her mother knows everything about everyone, I’m sure you can have some good conversations with her.” 

I nod again, though I don’t remember who young Lady Wellbelove is. 

My father nods as well, looking pleased. He walks off to make small talk with the guests. I sigh. Tonight I feel like the princess of the story Baz had read to me on the balcony; ready to run away. 

I walk away from the tables and walk towards the top of the stairs that lead to the dance floor. I love watching people dance. I love how everyone is moving on the same pace. Everyone is just dancing as a pair, but to me it looks like a whole group doing one dance together. 

I notice someone standing next to me and I look to my right. I am greeted by a set of grey eyes. Baz. I shouldn’t be standing next to Baz. 

I feel a slight panic rise in my chest. Baz sees the fear in my eyes and gives me a questioning look.

“What was that conversation with your father about?” He asks me and I’m taken off guard by the fact he saw us. Not just that; he also knows who my father is and he seems to know we didn’t have a very nice conversation. Baz is smart; observant. 

I want to lie to him, tell him it was just my father being a typical father; reminding me to be a gentleman to the ladies, but I can’t seem to get the lie out. “He doesn’t like it when I talk to you.”

Baz nods. He doesn’t ask me why, he knows. Like I said; smart, observant. 

“I don’t care, you know.” He says. “I told you I aspire to be like the princess. The princess who loves dragons instead of dresses. I think what I said was wrong.”

I stare at him, confused.

“I don’t want to run away,” he continues. “This is my life. It’s something I need to accept, but it also needs to accept me. I want my father to see me for who I am and be okay with it.”

“I understand what you’re saying, Baz. I just don’t think I, personally, will even be brave enough.” 

He nods and we’re both quiet for a moment, looking out over the dance floor. I think about asking him to walk away. I think about walking away myself. We shouldn’t be standing here together, if my father sees... But then I realize he probably already has.

“I think I can be brave,” Baz says.

“Yes?” I ask, looking up at him, staring at his profile. He has a strange nose, it’s high in between his eyes, though it doesn’t look strange on him. Somehow, it fits him perfectly. 

“I think I can,” he says. Then he takes a deep breath and turns around so his whole body is facing me. “Simon, can I have this dance?”

I look at him with wide eyes. 

“Can I have this dance? We will both be brave.”

I am about to refuse his offer. I can’t do this. I can’t just disappoint my father in front of everyone on his own ball, but I stop thinking about my father and start thinking about Baz. Baz.

I think of the way his voice carried the words of the story about the rebellious princess. The princess who ran. 

I think about the way he had offered to keep me warm. His arms around me. My back pressed against his torso. 

I think of him, the feeling of him. Just him. I know I want it. I know I’ve been craving for him this whole week.

“Yes,” I tell him, my breath uneven as I speak, “you can.”

Baz smiles at me and he seems relieved. He hold out his hand and I take it. We walk down the steps together.

When we arrive at the dance floor, I know people are looking at us. I try to ignore it. I try to kill all my thoughts and just think about Baz. Only Baz. 

We step onto the dance floor and I feel Baz slip one hand around my hips, resting on my lower back. I look up at him and I feel adrenaline rush through my veins. Just think of Baz. Only Baz.

I place my hand on his shoulder and let my other hand be held by Baz’s. We starts to move. 

Baz. Only Baz. Forget the all eyes from around the room. There’s only one set of eyes important. Baz. 

I’m not a good dancer; always stumbling, never feeling comfortable with the way I have to make my body move to the rhythm of the music, but with Baz it feel natural. It all feels right. My feet follow his like it’s all there is to follow. 

Soon I forget about the people around us. Soon I forget about the music. Soon, all there is, is Baz. 

I want to be closer to him, I want more than just his hand on my back. I want him to hold me. I bring us to a halt. Baz doesn’t seem surprised by it, he just stares at me with a beautiful expression in his eyes. I feel the pressure of his hand on my back grow and I now he wants me to take a step closer to him. I do. 

I have to tilt my head not to be able to look him in the eyes. His hand, the one that’s holding mine, slips away. Then he places it on my cheek. I feel all the blood in my body rising to my face, making legs becoming weak. 

“Can I... Can I kiss you, Simon?” He asks me. 

I hear someone in the distance say my name, but it’s not Baz and Baz is all there is right now. 

I nod at Baz. He takes a deep breath and then closes the distance between our faces. Every inch he comes loser feels like a victory.

And then our lips meet. 

And I know. I know I never want to run away. I never want to go some place else then here. Here where I’m kissing Baz and Baz is kissing me; a feeling so wonderful that there are no words to live up to the rightful expectation. 

All I feel is Baz and it’s everything and the only thing I ever want to feel. It’s all I need to feel. It’s all I need to feel completely free.


End file.
